When a Good Man Falls
by Akiko Natsuko
Summary: An ambush in the middle of nowhere ends in disaster, leaving Athos injured and fighting for his life, and the others racing against time to get to him.
1. Chapter 1

There was a rush to fighting, a clarity that came from knowing that each step could be his last in this deadly dance, that each breath, warm from exertion could also be his last, that thrilled Athos. At some point he had come to realise that was why he had become a Musketeer, chasing that thrill, that feeling of being alive that had been stolen from him with the same noose that had failed to free him from Milady's clutches. However, that didn't mean he appreciated fighting in the pouring rain, and as he ducked under a wildly swung sword, he glanced across at Porthos, just in time to see the other man slam one of their unfortunate attackers into the trunk of the tree. The impact was enough to send bark flying in all directions and to have the man crumpling into a heap at the base, eyes rolled back in his head.

"Impressive," he commented, as Porthos grinned at him before the other man's eyes widened at movement beyond his shoulder. Without pause, he twisted, driving his blade home into the heart of the man who had been coming up behind him, before glancing back as he drew it free. "However, if you ever suggest a shortcut again, I will shoot you myself."

"Come on, Athos," Porthos was unfazed by the threat, ducking as Aramis fired off a shot that would have taken off his head, but instead downed another of the bandits who had come upon them as they cut through the forest, hoping to shorten their trip back to Paris. "It makes a nice change of pace after the long ride." He was already moving, words lost in the rain and sounds of fighting as he moved to cover D'Artagnan, who had been almost asleep in the saddle before the ambush and was pressed on four sides, the sleep slow to clear from his mind.

"I think I preferred our earlier pace," Aramis threw into the conversation, as he ducked past Athos, moving to join the other two as D'Artagnan, a little more alert now echoed his sentiments even as he drove an elbow into the nose of one of his assailants.

Athos shook his head, rolling his eyes at their byplay, watching the water spray off the brim of his hat for a second, before turning to face the next assailant. It was easy enough to sidestep the first swing, parrying it off to the side. The fist that followed clipped his chin, but it had lacked any real strength against wet skin, and Athos swung downwards with his elbow, feeling his attacker's wrist shatter under the impact. A second blow had him crumbling, lost in the mud at his feet and Athos didn't spare him a second glance before moving onto the next. Because what they lacked in skill, they were making up for with surprise and sheer numbers, as it seemed that for as many men they had put onto the ground, another three loomed out of the darkness to replace them.

He had downed at least three more before pain erupted in his shoulder and stifling a groan, he whirled to face the source of it, realising his mistake a moment too late, as the knife twisted with the movement drawing a strangled cry from his lips. His vision blurred, and it was pure luck that he lifted his blade in time to parry the sword thrust that followed, flinching as metal clashed much too close to his face for comfort. _I'm not going to die here. _It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself to think like that, at times almost welcoming the thought of the peace death would bring him, and he growled under his breath, blinking to try and clear his vision, just able to make out the shadowy form looming over him. It wasn't enough, not when they were this close, and whispering a prayer that would do Aramis proud he lunged forwards.

There was no elegance in his plan, but it did its job as he found warm flesh beneath his grasping fingers and gripped hard, using his weight and momentum to push them both down, praying that he wouldn't land on the wrong end of a blade as he did so. There was no burning pain beyond the one in his shoulder, which he took as a good sign. What wasn't so good was the terrifying sensation of being in mid-air, the ground which had been treacherous at best due to the rain, but had at least been solid, disappearing from under his feet.

And then they were falling.

Desperately he tried to release his hold on the bandit, but the man in his panic was gripping at the only solid thing within reach. He twisted and turned, fingers digging into flesh as he tried to free himself, vision whiting out as the bandit, in turn, clawed at him, catching his shoulder and reigniting the pain from his wound. A strangled noise slipping free, even as he jack-knifed, slamming his head into the bandit's head. The blow was enough to have his ears ringing, and he was almost regretting it when the hands grabbing at him slipped away, the weight that had been pulling him down faster disappearing, a distant cry lost on the wind. He didn't have time to celebrate his release, throwing his arms out blindly in the hopes of grasping something, anything, that would at least slow if not stop his fall.

Too late, he remembered that the narrow path that Porthos had directed them too had run along the rim of an old quarry, unsurprised when loose rock and scree greeted his searching fingers. He had little hope as he tried to bury them into the material, desperately seeking purchase, feet scuffing against similar material but sliding helplessly against the steep face. For a second his fingers seemed to find a grip, hissing as full weight swung from his arms and more worryingly his throbbing shoulder, but there was nothing he could to ease it, his breath catching as for a moment he swung in place. Then with a slow skitter of pebbles that heralded worse to come, he felt himself beginning to slide downwards.

_How high am I?_It had already been dark before they'd hit the path, with nothing visible below but a deeper shade of black, and he had no idea how far he had fallen already or how far below him the ground lay. He wasn't keen on finding out. Tilting his head up into the rain, he tried in vain to spy the top as he fought against the slow slide pulling him down. "PORTHOS!" He shouted, realising that his fall was inevitable as he slid a few feet before managing to tighten his grip on the loose rocks, feeling the edge of some of them slicing into his hands, turning his palms and fingers slick with blood. _A little longer,_ he thought, ignoring the burn in his shoulders and the pain spreading through his hands, as he clung on through sheer stubbornness. "ARAMIS! D'ART…" He had no idea if his voice had been loud enough to hear over the rain, and sound of fighting, let alone at this distance, and it was cut off abruptly, as the struggling rock face gave way beneath his weight.

This time there was nothing for him to grab hold of, and all he could do was throw up his ravaged hands to try and shield his face as half the wall seemed to come away with him. Rubble rained down on him, a mixture of scree and larger rocks, and there was only so much he could do to protect himself, feeling several pieces slicing into his face as they made it through his feeble defences. He lost all sense of direction, head reeling from the sensation of falling and the sickening burn spreading through his shoulder, and all he could do was twist around, knowing that he didn't want to land on his back, although he doubted that would be enough to save him. He finally glimpsed a darker shadow that he assumed was the ground, looming up out of the night air. It was peppered with the vague shape of trees and rocks, and he squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that it was futile, and for it to be rendered useless as one of the larger rocks that had been falling with him clipped him behind the ear.

Pain exploded through his head, bringing with it an almost welcome darkness, and he spared a last thought for what the others would find before he surrendered to it. Mercifully unaware as his body slammed into the upper branches of one of the trees he'd spotted through the darkness, freewheeling through branches, oblivious to the fresh wounds his wild tumble inflicted on his helpless body. However, even unconscious, he jerked as the knife was torn violently from his shoulder, dragged downwards in the process, before his body escaped the tree and slammed heavily into the uneven ground beneath.

Porthos let out a triumphant shout as the last of the bandits fled back into the trees, leaving the ground around them littered with their fellows. "Well that was bracing," he called to the others as he turned away, doubting that they would risk a second attempt as they'd wiped out at least half their number if not more, wiping his blade against the leather of his doublet before sheathing it. A quick pat down revealing that the worst injury he'd received was a cut on his cheek from where he'd ducked a hair too late, and while it was sore, he could live it.

"That's one way of putting it," Aramis grumbled, holding up his ruined cloak, which he had flung into the face of one bandit, sparing his own face but leaving the blue material in tatters. Letting it fall to the ground, he looked across at Porthos. "After some thought, I think I agree with Athos' earlier sentiments. I'll hold you down, while he shoots you if you take us on another shortcut like this."

"Athos you've corrupted Aramis, he's lost his sense of adventure and become all prim and proper like you," Porthos complained with a laugh, before coming up short when there was no tart rejoinder from Athos. "Athos?"

"Where is he?" Aramis demanded, noting the concerned note in Porthos' voice, turning and scanning the area, expression darkening as he realised that there was no sign of the other man. "Athos?!"

"Athos?!" D'Artagnan was scanning the ground, kicking over the bodies that were sprawled face down in the mud, while Aramis went to check on the horses that had bolted into trees at the start of the ambush, hoping that Athos had gone to do the same.

It was Porthos, backtracking to where he had last seen Athos who found a familiar sword half-buried in the mud, as though it had been dropped or knocked out of his friend's hand. "ATHOS!" He called again, lifting his voice, aware of how loud the rain on the trees was. There was no reply and growling under his breath in an attempt to curb his growing worry he scanned the ground, although he doubted that there were any usable tracks left between the rain and the fighting. However, it only took him a few moments to find the deep gouges in the mud, as though someone's feet had been dragged through them…backwards, he realised, following their path, and feeling like he had just been punched in the gut as he tracked them to the rim of the quarry where part of the edge had crumbled away. "No…"

"What is it?" Aramis demanded, having returned with their horses in tow and no sign of Athos, catching the quiet groan. Porthos didn't speak, instead tilting his head towards the precipice and watching as the colour drained out of Aramis' face as he realised what had happened, letting the reins fall from his hands as he moved to the edge and peered down into the darkness as Porthos moved to join him. "ATHOS! ATHOS!" He roared, and they strained, leaning out as far as they dared, trying to see through the darkness even as they listened for a reply, hushing at D'Artagnan as he rushed to join them as he realised what they were doing.

D'Artagnan leaned out further than they had, Porthos reaching out to grab his doublet, making sure that he couldn't join Athos even as he demanded. "Can you see him?"

"It's too dark." The younger man shook his head, allowing Porthos to pull him back. "Are you sure that he fell down there?" It was a desperate hope, and Porthos glanced back at the tracks praying that he could say 'no' and they would turn around and find Athos appearing between the trees, but that was wishful thinking, and he bowed his head.

"How deep is it?"

"I don't know," Porthos admitted, cursing himself for ever suggesting this shortcut, all teasing forgotten as he glanced back at the quarry before moving away. "Come on, we need to find a way down there."

"Porthos…" Aramis began before trailing off, none of them ready to voice the thoughts that they were all starting to think, aloud. _He might be dead…_ He met Porthos' gaze, seeing the same fear in his eyes, before forcing a smile. "He will probably be sat down there laughing at us all for worrying so much and grumbling about us being late." It was a weak stab at comfort, and they all knew it, grim-faced as they moved to the horses. And it was D'Artagnan who crouched down and retrieved Athos' hat when he spied it lying in the mud, making a futile attempt to brush the dirt off, hanging it carefully of his belt before swinging himself into the shadow and looking at him.

"Let's find him."


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm must be dead,_ was the first thought that formed as some kind of awareness returned to Athos. He wasn't why he felt so sure of that fact, just that he believed it as much as he had ever believed in anything, he just wasn't sure where he was, because this was nothing like he had imagined. It was just grey and empty. Not fire and brimstone, and not the peaceful ideal so many people hoped and prayed for. It was nothingness, and a chill settled into his skin as he tried to turn around, hoping to find something that would grant him his bearings.

It burned.

It felt as though he was back in the flames that had engulfed his family home, only this time, there were no friendly hands to pull him free. It hurt. A pain that lanced deep through his body, stealing his breath and bringing tears to his eyes, and at that moment, he knew that he wasn't dead. Not yet at least, because it hurt too much to be anything but life. _I'm alive._ Oddly that brought him more relief that the thought of being dead had, but not much because although he had instinctively stilled as the burn spread through what he guessed must be his body, although it felt distant, the pain hadn't abated in the slightest. Maybe it was because he knew that he was alive now, the grey fading a little, or maybe it was his body trying to tell him that he needed help.

As though he didn't know that.

_But why?_ Beneath the shifting certainty of whether he was alive or dead, he realised that there was a different nothingness, a gap in his memories. _Where am I?_ They had been travelling back to Paris, he could remember that much. Just as he could still feel the echo of rain hammering down on him…and there had been an ambush, nothing they couldn't handle even if they'd been caught off guard, and he could vaguely remember the banter, the others voices close to him, but beyond that point his memory became patchy. There were flickers. Rain. Pain. Falling. But nothing that he could make sense of in his current situation, and he frowned. It was a cruel irony that the things he wanted to forget were always the ones that he could remember with perfect clarity, at least until he was deep in his cups, but the things he wanted to remember disappeared like a cloud in the breeze.

However, one thing had stood out from the memories. He hadn't been alone. Yet even as his awareness of the world around him remained little more than a thick grey haze that he wasn't ready to try and fight his way through, he knew that he was alone now. _Where are they?_ They wouldn't have left him. There had been a time when he'd waited for that to happen, even going so far as to push them towards it, hoping that it would make it hurt less. That was a long time ago. Now he knew better, and his stomach churned with the realisation that they weren't there, knowing that it would take a lot to keep them away.

_What happened? _

He couldn't remember, and the more that he tried to focus the more the grey around him seemed to deepen, snatching his thoughts away, until even the images he had were blurring, fading, leaving him disorientated in his own mind. His thoughts were slowing, what brief awareness he'd had fading, taking with it any thought he might have had of trying to find them, and as his head fell to the side, pain flaring once more, he was lost.

_Where are you…?_

It had cost them valuable time to find the narrow path that broke off from the track they'd been following, leading down into the darkness, and hopefully to the base of the quarry. It clearly wasn't the main route in, but none of them had been willing to waste more time searching for another path down, especially as the darkness would make it even harder to find.

The rain was incessant, making the going even more treacherous as the ground beneath the horses became a quagmire, and more than once they slid forward a few steps before catching themselves, leaving their mounts anxious and their own hearts in their mouths. It didn't help that their only light now came from the hooded lantern that Porthos was holding aloft, giving them a narrow pool of light to see by. And when D'Artagnan's horse reared and tried to bolt after the edge of the path gave way as they ventured too close, sending clumps of earth tumbling down into the darkness, Aramis called for them to stop.

"We can't take the horses any further, they're just going to get injured, or we are."

"We'll be slower on foot," Porthos pointed out, not arguing, but not happy either. He had been the quietest as they worked their way down the path, and Aramis knew that they would need to deal with that later. Their good-natured jibing about the shortcut taking on a more serious edge now that one of their own was missing, but it didn't change the fact that Porthos hadn't intended for any of this to happen, something that Athos would be the first to remind them of if…when they found him.

"I know," he didn't like that either, but he knew that one of them needed to think clearly here and with Porthos clearly blaming himself, and D'Artagnan quiet in his worry, it seemed to have fallen to him even though he didn't feel very clear headed at the moment, concern hidden beneath each word. "However, we're going to need them to get Athos out of here, so we can't risk them now." They couldn't hide from the fact that Athos was going to be injured, probably grievously so, he thought as he glanced back up the path they'd taken. The descent had been steep even for them, and Athos had fallen that far. However, while he could admit that the situation was serious, what he couldn't or wouldn't do was entertain the idea that they might find something worse when they finally found him.

_We're taking him home,_ it didn't sound convincing even in the privacy of his own thoughts, and he was glad that he hadn't tried to voice it aloud. Glancing away as Porthos sighed but nodded, before moving to dismount. _Please, God, let Athos still be alive,_ he pleaded as he swung himself out of his own saddle, D'Artangan mirroring them with a scowl on the other side of the path as he got his horse back under control.

They tethered the horses amongst the trees, hoping that the few bandits that had slipped away into the night wouldn't come after them, before moving on again. This time D'Artagnan took the lead, nervous energy consuming him, and more than once they lost sight of him as he moved beyond the pool of light. He never got too far ahead though, because the going was just as treacherous for them as it had been for the horses, and more than once they had to flail out, grabbing at branches and rocks, as the mud finally gave way to rockier ground. Although this was just as slippery after all the rain, they were no longer having to yank their feet free of the mud, allowing them to move faster, albeit with caution.

When the ground eventually levelled out a little, Porthos lifted the lantern up as high as he could, and it offered them a fleeting glimpse of the how far down they'd come, glinting of steep rock walls and water beaded trees.

"Can anyone survive a fall like that…." D'Artagnan was the one to give voice to what they were all thinking, and Aramis shared a glance with Porthos.

"If anyone can, Athos can," Porthos said after a moment, and Aramis nodded, impressed that he hadn't sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He just hoped that Porthos was right, swallowing as he glanced back up at the steep drop, and found himself whispering another prayer under his breath.

_Please, God._

It was hard to know where they were in relation to where the tracks indicated that Athos had gone over the edge, as they had been unable to leave any kind of marker behind, and it would also depend on how he'd fallen. If he'd managed to arrest the fall at all, or if he'd become tangled with the trees that had grown since the quarry had ceased functioning, then he might have fallen closer to or further from the wall than they were expecting. "Let's spread out, we don't want to miss him," Aramis whispered after a few minutes of searching had turned up nothing, something cold and unpleasant clenching in his gut at the thought that they might just walk past Athos like this. The others didn't argue, fanning out, although they couldn't go as far as they might wish; otherwise, they risked losing what little advantage the lantern was giving them.

At one point there was a startled cry from the direction that D'Artagnan had taken, but before they could ask if he had found something, he had shouted that he had just run afoul of the slippery debris from the quarry. It was a reminder that they weren't in the safest position, and Aramis moved more cautiously as he inched forward, scanning the ground for any sign of Athos and glancing up at the wall of the quarry, wondering what they were going to do if Athos was caught part way up. There was no way they would find him tonight if that were the case, and if they waited until morning, then it might be too late.

The minutes ticked by with no sign of Athos, their shouts going unanswered as they abandoned what little caution they'd had, ears straining to hear a response over the tattoo of rain against the trees and rocks. And Aramis was beginning to think that his prayers weren't going to be answered this time, or that they had been too late as he watched the unsteady path of the lantern as Porthos clambered over the rocks with increasing desperation. _Athos. _It seemed inconceivable that the other man could have fallen, especially in a cowardly ambush and from something like this, and he gritted his teeth and pressed on, refusing to give up hope yet. "ATHOS!" He roared, as though raising his voice would do what the rest of their efforts had failed to do. "ATHOS! ANSWER ME!"

To his left he heard Porthos shouting as well, some cursing slipping in as the other man's concerns and guilt began to bubble over, and he waited to hear D'Artagnan echoing their shouts, already turning, a frown forming when he didn't hear the younger man's voice. He was about to shout, not willing to lose another of their group, when D'Artagnan's voice rang out, loud in his excitement and relief, although it didn't hide the worry beneath his words.

"Aramis I've got him! He's alive!"

"Don't touch him!" Aramis shouted, barely able to see the pair as D'Artagnan crouched down next to something on the ground, charging past Porthos to get to them, nearly going sprawling as his foot caught on scree. "God knows what damage he did falling all this way." He'd tried not to think about it while they were searching, but now he was highly aware of how much damage could have been done, and how far they were from any form of help. _He might have survived the fall, but now we have to keep him alive,_ it was a fight they couldn't afford to lose, and his mind was already racing as he tried to work out how they were getting out of this.

Until his eyes landed on Athos.

For a moment, all thoughts skidded to a halt, and he stumbled to a halt, frozen in place as he stared down at his friend. _Athos. _The vision only got worse as Porthos came up behind him, casting light over the sprawled figure of their missing friend, and D'Artagnan's crouched figure and Aramis spared the latter a quick glance, feeling for him as he saw the pale features and the fear glittering in his eyes. However, he didn't have any words of comfort for him at the moment, or for Porthos who cursed loudly in his ear as he got a good look at Athos. Instead, he took a step forward and then another, before taking a deep breath as he forced himself to close the last of the distance between them, dropping down to his knees on Athos' other side.

"Athos…" He breathed, hands hovering over Athos. The other man's face was a mess of abrasions and forming bruises, a deeper cut trailing across his forehead and round and down his right temple, leaving the right side of his face streaked in blood. He was unconscious, but even then, there was a furrow between his eyes, and Aramis winced in sympathy not wanting to imagine how much pain he had to be in. The head wound was worrying, and for a moment he felt an echo of sympathetic pain in his own head, but he pushed it away, moving his gaze lower, wanting a better feel for what he was dealing with before he risked touching him.

"Aramis…" Porthos began, and Aramis shook his head, still focused on his self-appointed task. It was hard to know just what damage lay beneath the surface, and even though Athos' armour had clearly borne the brunt of his fall, tattered and torn in places, it was still intact enough to conceal most of what lay beneath. That would need closer examination. However, what he couldn't miss was the places were branches and rocks had torn through the material to reach the vulnerable flesh beneath, blood shining black under the light of the lantern, and in more than one place he could see the debris caught in the wounds.

Worrying at his bottom lip, he leant forward. He wanted to keep checking, to know precisely what they were dealing with, but the need to try and rouse Athos was overwhelming. He needed the reassurance that the other man was still with them and that he knew they were there. They all did. He just hoped that the others didn't notice how badly his hands shook as he reached out. "Athos? Athos can you hear me?" When his voice didn't elicit a response, he shared a worried glance with D'Artagnan who was still crouched on the other side, before reaching out and lightly patting Athos' cheek. "Athos, it's time to wake up now." He tried to inject a note of command into his voice, knowing that Athos tended to respond better to that than worried pleas, and for a moment, the furrow between Athos' eyes seemed to deepen. "That's it…"

"A…" It was a breath of sound, a single letter forced between gritted teeth and bloodied lips, and for a second Athos' eyes twitched, dark lashes fluttering against too pale skin. However, opening them seemed to be beyond him, a low noise that could only come from pain following in its wake as his movement ceased, although it appeared to Aramis that he wasn't completely gone again just yet.

"We're here," he murmured, leaning in. It wasn't the reaction he'd wanted, but he wasn't about to waste the moment they'd been granted, remembering all too well how it had felt back in Savoy to be alone and injured, not sure if anyone was coming for him. He wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone, let alone a friend, and since the prickly Musketeer was in no position to protest, he reached down and gripped his wrist in support. "We're going to get you out of here." It was a promise, as sincere and devout as the one he'd made to the Crown. It seemed to help a little, some of the tension easing out of Athos' expression, although he didn't react beyond that, and after a minute Aramis had a feeling that he'd slipped under again, trying not to panic at the realisation. "Porthos bring that light closer," he ordered, knowing that he needed to keep moving, otherwise he was going to lose his focus, and they would all be in trouble.

With the light directly over him, Athos looked as though he could be dead, and Aramis couldn't quite keep his eyes from darting down to watch his chest rising and falling. Although there was little comfort in the sight, because it was an unsteady, laboured motion, that spoke of deeper injuries. Ones that could make moving him harder than it was going to be.

"Is he going to be all right?" It was D'Artagnan who asked, voice small and almost lost to the night and Aramis hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

"I'm not sure." There was a sharp intake of breath, and he wasn't sure who from, and he opened his mouth, trying to dredge up something encouraging to say when he paused. At some point, he had put a hand down on the ground to steady himself, distantly noting the cold stone with a wince, not wanting to imagine what that had felt like to land on. However, now he realised that his hand was wet, and not just the dampness that had soaked into every inch of his being from the driving rain. It was just as cold, but it felt different, and as he yanked his hand up, he already knew what he was going to find, although it didn't make the sight of blood coating his palm any easier. "Help me lift him up!" He barked, not giving them a chance to react, knowing that they must have seen the blood.

D'Artagnan moved, reaching out to take the lantern, letting Porthos take his position. Hovering anxiously as between them, they carefully eased Athos's head and shoulders off the ground, each movement slow and cautious, wary of the damage they didn't know about. However, it wasn't hard to find the source of the blood, the worry that he had been trying hold at bay, becoming a sinking feeling of dread as he glimpsed the deep wound in Athos' shoulder. It looked like a knife wound, at least initially, and glancing up and seeing the path of destruction through the branches above them, he had a feeling he knew what had happened.

"We need to do something about that at least before we move him," he murmured, letting Porthos take most of their friend's weight so that he could cautiously examine the wound. The knife had to have been in when he'd fallen, the impacts on the way down, causing it to move, tearing the wound and turning it into a different beast entirely.

"But," Porthos protested glancing around at where they were. It was a less than ideal place to be dealing with injuries, especially serious ones, the rain relentless as it pounded down on them, mud clinging to them.

"He's not going to make it otherwise," Aramis snapped, grimacing in apology as he realised how sharp he'd been but not taking it back, as he turned to look at D'Artagnan. "D'Artagnan run back to the horses and find me something to use for bandages. As clean as possible, but I'll take dry right now." _Not that it will remain that way,_ he thought, feeling the blood against his hand. _Damn it Athos, you don't get to die from something like this._


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as D'Artagnan had disappeared into the darkness with a whispered promise to return as quickly as possible, and a worried glance back at Athos. Aramis resumed his inspection, keeping one hand braced against the torn flesh in the hopes of stemming some of the blood flow, as he moved his other hand lightly down the injured Musketeer's body, Porthos helping to support Athos as best he could. It wasn't the first time Aramis had been forced to do this, as Athos was notoriously bad at letting them know the full extent of his injuries, and yet this felt a thousand times worse. Part of it was the knowledge that they were lucky that Athos had survived the original fall, let alone hanging on long enough for them to find it. Worse was the realisation that they could still lose him, and that Aramis was their best hope of preventing that from happening, which meant that he couldn't miss a single thing.

_As though that will help,_ he thought, sparing a glance for the dark sky above them, and the rain still falling in a heavy shower. Finding the injuries and patching what he could was not going to help them get out of here, and the risk of moving Athos… he shook his head, catching Porthos' worried glance, knowing that his silence was more telling than his words could ever be. He rambled when nervous, but this went beyond that, and he was afraid that his voice would betray just how bad the situation was, and how deep his fear ran. _Focus._ It was Athos' voice that cut through his swirling thoughts, just as it always was when situations started to get out of hand, and he smiled slightly, knowing that it was more of a grimace. _Easy for you to say, _he thought, even as he obeyed the imagined command, pressing lightly as he searched for breaks, or any sign of deeper damage, knowing that both posed more danger than the damage he could already see, especially if they were going to consider moving him.

The right arm was clearly broken, and Aramis had to pause a moment, taking in the numerous cuts and grazes littering the hand and wrist. _As though he tried to reach out and stop his fall. _ It wasn't something he wanted to imagine, and he was quick to move on. He was methodical but careful as he moved down Athos' chest, already knowing that there was more damage under the surface from the ragged movement and strained breathing. Even more telling was the low intake breath, as he ran his fingers along the left side, and his gaze darted to Athos' face hopeful and worried all at once, but apart from a slight movement behind closed lids, there was no reaction. It was a relief, he told himself, because while his efforts would have been made a hundred times easier if Athos was awake to tell him where it hurt, but Aramis wouldn't wish that amount of pain on anyone, let alone Athos.

"Aramis…"

God knew what his expression had shown to put that amount of worry in Porthos voice, although as he glanced towards the other man, he had a feeling that the worry had just been bubbling up and waiting to burst out. "Bring that light a little closer," he ordered, realising that for all that Porthos was still supporting Athos, he was stiff, trying to maintain a careful distance between them and Aramis had a good idea why. However, now was not the time to address that topic. Besides, he had a feeling that any words he could drum up would have little effect at the moment because he wasn't the one that Porthos wanted to hear. Still, his order had the desired effect of making Porthos lean in, casting more light over Athos, it also meant that he couldn't miss Porthos' sharp intake of breath, unable to escape the damage at this distance.

"He…"

"He was lucky." The words felt wooden in his mouth. Not a lie, because he couldn't let them be a lie, but he couldn't make himself believe the words either, and neither could Porthos if his grimace were anything to go by, and Aramis was quick to turn his attention back to Athos. There were no other apparent breaks, but he took little comfort in that fact because he knew all to well that the worst damage could be under the surface. Damage that he might not be able to fix. Damage that could still snatch Athos away from him.

_Please, God…_

There weren't enough prayers in the world for the miracle that they needed right now, but they were all he had, fingers curling against Athos as his breathing hitched for a moment before finding its previous, unsteady rhythm. "Where is D'Artagnan?" He demanded, what patience he usually had deserting him as he glanced down at Athos and then out into the darkness, trying to quieten the small voice that said that something could have happened.

"He'll be back," Porthos stated with such faith that Aramis envied him for a moment.

_Please, God._

It felt like an eternity, time losing its meaning between the dark, rain-filled night and the strained breathing of Athos beside him, the small voice of worry and doubt rising in the back of his mind again when they finally heard a shout from amongst the trees. Porthos moved first, rising to his feet and waving the lantern around to signal where they were, and Aramis was just about to hiss a warning at him, unable to forget that they might not be the only people about in the dark when D'Artagnan came into view, leading his clearly reluctant horse through the trees. The younger man was soaked, and one side of his body was covered in mud, while his cheek was scraped raw, indicating that he had run afoul of the slipperiness in the darkness. However, Aramis spared it little more than a glance, before his attention turned to the horse, and the bags attached to its saddles.

"Did you bring everything?" He demanded incredulously.

"Not quite," D'artagnan flashed him a grin that fell flat as his gaze darted to Athos, clearly disappointed by the lack of change. "It was easier to bring it all than trying to go back and forth in the dark, and I wasn't sure we would be leaving tonight…"

"We need to get him somewhere dry as soon as possible," Aramis cut him off, but there was a hesitation in his words, knowing that it wasn't going to be that easy. He could see the protest in the other two's expressions, but was in no mood to entertain them right now, his attention shifting back to Athos. "Bandages."

It was a sign of how much time they'd spent together that D'artagnan didn't argue, tethering the horse and rummaging through one of the saddlebags before bringing the requested bandages across, Porthos moving back into position and holding the lantern up high, trying to give them as much light as possible. Aramis accepted the offering, pleased to note that they were clean and dry for now, choosing to ignore the fact that they bore a striking resemblance to one of Athos' shirts, as the other man would hopefully prefer being alive to having his shirt in one piece. Although knowing Athos probably not, but that was something to be dealt with if they got through this, and he grimaced, unable to tell himself 'when' at the moment, and he took a deep breath before looking up at Porthos. "Give D'Artagnan the light. You're going to need to hold him tightly because this is going to hurt."

Porthos looked dismayed at the idea, but he handed the lantern over without complaint before kneeling down beside them, lips pressed together as he studied Athos. "I…"

"There is no other way," Aramis cut across him, not unkindly, because he was just as dismayed by the idea of doing anything that might cause Athos more pain. It had been one of the hardest things to come to terms with when he had first learnt field medicine, knowing that sometimes you had to cause pain in order to help, and right now staring at Athos' still features he was torn between wishing that he had never learned and relief that he had. "That wound has to be dealt with." At least it could be dealt with as bad as it was, it was the other injuries that scared him more, but he didn't say that, instead indicating where he wanted Porthos to hold on, scolding D'Artagnan when the lantern dipped a little and fussing until he could no longer delay the inevitable.

For all his nervousness, his hands were steady as he eased Athos' armour and shirt out of the way, biting back a curse as the bloodied shirt stuck to the wound, deciding that now was not the time to do anything that might risk the miracle they needed tonight. Eventually, though he had a clear view of the wound, Porthos easing Athos up to give him access, supporting him without Aramis needed to prompt him, the large hands that could kill a man without hesitation, painfully gentle now. "It's going to be a while before he can wield a blade," Porthos muttered grimly, studying the wound, as Aramis began to gently began to clean the tattered and torn flesh as best he could, wincing as he couldn't help but imagine how it had happened and the pain it must've caused.

"But he will be able to?" D'Artagnan asked/

"If God is with us." _And I don't mess this up,_ Aramis thought with a frown. The thought of Athos not being able to fight again wasn't one that he wanted to entertain, although he would take that over losing him, even if he doubted Athos would see it in the same light. "Make sure you have him tight," he cautioned, as he reached into his pouch for the needle and thread, he kept handy for their inevitable injuries, using the all too brief time it took him to thread the needle to settle his breathing. The rain had slicked his fingers, but that didn't slow him, and he took a final deep breath before nodding to Porthos, who looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but there, even as he tightened his grip on Athos. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Usually, when he had to stitch them up, they would be talking, bantering about the newest scar, joking about the pretty girls that would look on a musketeer's scars as a sign of his heroics. Either that or they would be cursing at him for sticking them with the needle again and teasing him that he wasn't quite the prettiest seamstress they'd seen, which usually earned them a scowl and a slightly harder than necessary press of the needle. All that was missing tonight. D'Artangan had fallen silent, careful to keep the lantern in position so that Aramis could see and doing his best to use his body to keep the rain off where Aramis was working. Porthos was speaking, but to Athos whose brow had furrowed a little at the first press of the needle, and there was nothing teasing about the quiet reassurances that everything was going to be all right and that he wasn't alone.

Aramis missed the banter, but he was also grateful for it, needing to focus more than he ever had before because this was just the first step. The damage the fall had done was also making it a nightmare to stitch up, and he knew even as he paused to take stock that it was going to leave a nasty scar when it healed. Athos had never been particularly vain about scars, but Aramis had a feeling that this was an evening that they would all prefer to forget, and yet it was going to be permanently written across his friend's skin.

"Aramis?"

"I'm fine," he replied more sharply than intended, belying his own words and he shot Porthos an apologetic glance even as he resumed his work.

He was roughly two-thirds done when the tense silence that had fallen once more was broken by a low groan, and his eyes darted to Athos' face, just in time to see the other man's frown become more pronounced. It was the only warning they had, before Athos came to life in Porthos' arms, trying to move away from the pain of they were causing him, only to realise he was restrained. At any other time, Aramis would have been impressed with the speed with which he shifted gears, lashing out at the arms holding him, but right now, with the knowledge that Athos would be causing himself more damage he wanted to curse.

"Athos! ATHOS!" Aramis flung himself forward as Athos cried out, trusting Porthos to hold him, avoiding the wild fist that swung worryingly close to his nose, and reaching out to grasp the other man's face, forcing him to look at him. "It's me, it's Aramis. It's Aramis." He repeated frantically, not sure if it was going to be enough because while Athos was conscious and moving, his eyes were wild and unfocused. Instinct guiding him more than purpose. More out of desperation than anything else, he let the next blow hit, and there was a pause, as though Athos hadn't expected his hand to connect with anything.

"A...mis?" It wasn't much of an improvement on earlier, but there was a glimmer of recognition in the wary features, and right now Aramis would take what he could get as he nodded hurriedly. Athos's gaze drifted seeking out Porthos and D'Artagnan, although Aramis was doubtful about how much he could actually make out at the moment, before shifting back to him. The fight seemed to drain out of Athos then, although he wasn't sure whether that was because he'd realised, they were all there and that he was safe, or whether it was exhaustion and pain that had brought them to a halt. Probably a combination of both he thought with a frown, leaning closer as he realised that Athos was trying to speak. "…lone…"

_Alone._

Aramis didn't need any help understanding that one. It had long been a silent understanding amongst their group that Athos actually hated being alone, for all that he would push and shove them away when he was hurting. It was why one of them would always trail after him when he went out with the intention of getting roaringly drunk, braving the sharp words, and demands to be left alone; and why it had become an unspoken rule, that where possible at least one of them would be given duties in the city if Athos was injured. He bit his lip, sensing that it was more than that this time. Had Athos regained consciousness before they'd found him? He didn't want to imagine what that would have been like, waking down here in the dark and wet after a fall like that, not knowing what had happened to the others, and from the way, Porthos grimaced he felt the same.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, fingers light against Athos's face, keeping the wandering gaze on him as best he could, mindful of the cuts and blossoming bruises. "It took us a little while to wrap up the fight, and to find a way down here." He tried to speak lightly, but it would be a while before they forgot the tension and fear of that descent, and some of it must have bled through because Athos, as dazed and injured he was, was narrowing his eyes. "We're fine, you're the only one injured." Relief greeted his words, and he bit back the urge to snap at Athos to worry about himself for once, knowing that that wouldn't go across well even if Athos understood what was happening, which was doubtful as his attention was wavering again, eyes heavy-lidded. "I need to finish patching up your shoulder before we can think about getting out of here," he continued. "It's going to hurt, but I need you to be as still as possible."

A sharp jerk of Athos' head was his only response, and he could feel the muscles under his fingers tensing as the other musketeer tried to brace himself for the pain to come. Aramis reluctantly withdrawing his hands and moving to reclaim his needle, checking his previous work, relieved to see that it had survived Athos' thrashing intact. "Have you got him?" He asked Porthos because as much as he wanted to admire Athos' determination, he knew full well how hard it was to hold yourself still in the face of the kind of pain he would be causing. And while Athos could and would usually sit perfectly still under his ministrations, this was hardly a normal situation, and he was already wishing that he had been able to remain unconscious through the entirety of this, even before the stifled gasp as he pulled the thread taut once more at Porthos' tense nod.

It was D'Artagnan who had been silent while they settled Athos, knowing that they had a better handle on Athos in situations like this than he did, who broke the silence. His voice was quiet but strong, rising above the rustling of the leaves, patter of rain and Athos' increasingly ragged breathing as he began to talk. It was about nothing in particular, avoiding the subject of what they were going to do and the fight that had led to this, focusing on simple things that even Athos could more or less follow in his current state. Gossip from the training yard. Silly rumours from the streets. A little taste of normality that should have seemed utterly out of place in the current situation, and yet was precisely what they needed.

Athos was distracted, probably more by the sound of the younger man's voice than the words, while Aramis found himself relaxing a little and finding his stride, and some of the tension had eased out of Porthos' expression although he remained focused on the task at hand. And even as Athos' eyes eventually slid shut again, Aramis finally began to let himself hope that maybe just maybe they would be able to get through this one.

_God willing._


	4. Chapter 4

Aramis was exhausted by the time he had finished stitching the wound shut, and as he pulled his hands away to examine his work, he could feel his fingers beginning to tremble. Hoping that the others didn't notice, he checked the stitching before nodding with satisfaction. It wasn't as good as it would've been if they'd been inside and had proper lighting, but they were secure, and hopefully, he had managed to minimise the scarring that would be left behind. _As long as there is no infection, or…_ Even tired, his mind wouldn't settle and there was just too much that could still go wrong, and he fumbled slightly with the last of the bandages as he bound the wound.

"I can't do much else," he admitted, looking up at the other two. At some point, D'Artagnan's voice had faded away into silence after Athos had passed out again, and he realised that they were both almost holding their breath as they watched him work. "He's not out of the woods by any means." It wasn't the reassurance any of them wanted, but it was better than lying to them or himself.

"But…?"

"He stands a chance now," Aramis replied, stretching stiff shoulders and glancing at Porthos with a slight smile, knowing that he had pushed because Aramis needed to hear the words aloud just as much as they did. "If we can get him back, and keep the wounds clean and infection-free, and…" He was getting into his stride, because as much as he wanted to be optimistic, Athos couldn't afford for him to get carried away and lose focus, and he was just getting into his stride when Porthos shook his head and spoke up, voice stern.

"We're not moving him tonight."

"But…" Aramis immediately protested, gesturing at where they were and the rain that was still coming down on their heads. "We…"

"We're more likely to cause him further injury if we move him now," Porthos cut him off again. "It's dark, we don't know the area, and it's dangerously slippery, and we both know that he wouldn't be able to take another fall. "Aramis snapped his mouth shut because as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't disagree. It was dangerous, and yet… he glanced down at Athos and worried at his bottom lip. Both choices were risky, and for once he honestly wasn't sure which was the right choice, and he hadn't realised he'd pressed trembling hands against his eyes until Porthos added in a softer voice. "And you're exhausted too, we all are."

"You're right," Aramis admitted, lowering his hands. "But…"

"We could split up," D'Artagnan suggested. "Some of us go for help, and…"

"No." It was Aramis that cut that idea off at the root, tilting his head towards Athos. "You heard him worrying about being alone. He would be worried if he woke up to find some of us missing, and I would like to avoid causing him any unnecessary stress." Besides, they still didn't know the extent of the hidden damage, and Aramis didn't like the idea of being left short-handed if things went downhill.

"That settles it then," Porthos declared, climbing to his feet and looking around. "We're spending the night. We'd better bring the other horses down here too and see if we can rig up something to keep him dry." He made it sound easy, as though this was nothing more than just another day in the field, but the other two could miss the way his tone fell flat in places or how his gaze lingered on Athos, guilt poorly hidden beneath the joviality.

"I'll get the horses. I already know the way," D'Artagnan didn't look entirely convinced by their decision, but he didn't argue against it as he got to his feet and held out the lantern for Porthos to take now that he no longer had to hold Athos down. "Besides, you'd either get lost or manage to find the one pretty girl in these woods," he teased, disappearing out into the rain and darkness before either of them could retort, and Aramis was surprised when a chuckle bubbled up.

"That was one time…" He protested, looking at Porthos who merely lifted an eyebrow, silently questioning the truth of that statement and Aramis flushed before glancing away. Usually, it was Athos who would tease them about these things, the words drawled with a raised eyebrow or a smirk that just tugged the edge of his mouth, and he hadn't realised how much he'd needed that flash of normality until D'Artagnan had spoken up.

"That boy has been spending too much time with Athos," Porthos muttered, echoing his thoughts and Aramis snorted.

"Don't let him hear you call him a boy."

The silence was almost comfortable for a moment or two, and then Aramis sighed. "Let's try and move him into a slightly more sheltered spot," he suggested, squinting through the darkness. There wasn't much in the way of cover down here, and he was reluctant to move Athos too far now that they had decided that they were staying put. But, if they could at least get him further under one of the larger trees, it would provide some natural cover, and give them something to use as a basis for a shelter with what little they had. "Can you…?" As reluctant as he was to hand over the care of his patient right now, he knew that Porthos' size and strength would make it easier, and hopefully lessen the risk of causing more damage by moving him.

"Is it safe?"

"No," Aramis wouldn't lie to him. "But it's a better option than trying to make camp right here." Besides, the thought of remaining here in the spot where they could have lost Athos, and where the ground was marked with his blood, was unpleasant at best. "Just take it slowly, and…" He cut himself off, knowing that he didn't need to remind the other man to be careful. He wasn't sure he had ever met anyone else who was such a dichotomy between their physical size and presence, and their personality, and that was without the unwarranted guilt that he could still see lingering in Porthos' eyes when he gazed down at Athos as the other man silently handed him the lantern.

It didn't stop him from holding his breath, eyes locked on Athos' face as Porthos gently gathered the wounded musketeer up in his arms, each movement slow and steady, every shift planned for. Athos didn't stir, but the furrow between his eyes deepened, and at one point he made a soft, pained noise that had Porthos freezing in alarm, only moving again when Aramis prompted him.

It was a tense, stressful few minutes, and even though Aramis wasn't the one doing the heavy carrying, he felt as though he was walking a tight rope._ What if I missed something? Or the damage is worse than I thought?_

"…mis? Aramis?!" He blinked, realising that Porthos was calling for him and that he had been holding his breath, and chest aching, he took a deep breath before looking Porthos questioningly. "Here?" Porthos added, in a tone that suggested that he was also repeating that question, tilting his head to the side and Aramis followed his gaze. It wasn't much, just one of the towering trees with a particularly broad trunk and cover, the leaves and mud beneath it, not quite as mired as they were elsewhere, and he nodded. It would do. Trying not to think about, how much better it would be for Athos if they'd got him out of here, and instead lifting the lantern high, as Porthos crouched so that he could ease Athos down on the ground, sweeping some of the leaves into a rough pillow before settling him on to it.

Aramis barely waited for him to sit back, before settling the lantern down beside them and kneeling to check on Athos, nerves making him clumsy. Especially, as he could feel Porthos watching his every move, waiting with bated breath, and he could just imagine Athos scoffing and calling them a pair of mother-hens if he was awake. However, he wasn't awake, and Aramis took his time, leaning back just as they heard D'Artagnan calling out a warning that he was approaching, looking across at Porthos. "It doesn't seem to have done any damage." _I hope, and that's not accounting for the damage that was already out of sight,_ he thought, unable to keep the worries at bay in his own thoughts, although he was pleased to see Porthos relax slightly at his words.

"That's something at least," Porthos muttered, before climbing to his feet and going to help D'Artagnan as the younger man emerged from the darkness with the horses in tow, grumbling about them moving without him. Aramis knew that he should help, but he couldn't bring himself to move from Athos' side.

_Please God, get him through tonight…_

It had taken them a little while to set up a shelter, managing to hook their bedrolls between the lower hanging branches to provide a rough shelter around Athos. They then took it in turns to keep watch for the rest of the night, and not just to watch over Athos – with strict instructions to rouse Aramis if the injured musketeer woke at all, or if he showed any signs of getting worse during their night. Their other concern was being discovered by the bandits, or anyone else searching for an easy target out here late at night, especially as the small fire that Porthos had managed to coax to life in the rough shelter would be a beacon against their otherwise pitch-black surroundings. However, going without hadn't been an option, and Athos hadn't been the only one who had been shivering by the time they had settled for the night. And so, the watches were spent alternating between watching Athos, talking to him in low, soothing voices on the occasions when he became agitated and scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

It made for a tense, stressful evening. The darkness loomed around them, and with the continuing rain and the wind that whistled amongst the trees, there were far too many noises that had them jolting towards their weapons. Even those who slept were restless, stirring to check on Athos before settling again, and repeating the process again a short while later, to the point where it was a relief that he wasn't aware of their scrutiny, as he would have been vocal in his displeasure if he'd known. If only because he would've been worried about them not resting properly.

Aramis had been given the final watch after his efforts to patch Athos up earlier, although he'd been roused a couple of times when Porthos had worried that fever might be settling in when Athos had become slightly more restless. There had been the start of an unhealthy flush in Athos' cheeks, but mercifully it hadn't seemed to spread beyond that so far, although it had stopped him from sleeping deeply. Leaving him feeling as though he hadn't closed his eyes at all when he shuffled across to nudge D'Artagnan who was valiantly fighting the pull of sleep, even as his head bobbed between glancing from Athos to the trees.

"Get some rest," he murmured to D'Artagnan, waving away the exhausted apology and offer to stay up with him. It might not be the most restive sleep they were getting, but it would make the difference when it came to getting out of here as soon as it was light and considering how quickly the younger man caved, he must've realised it too.

Settling into the spot that D'Artagnan had just vacated, he rubbed his hands up his arms, trying to chase away some of the chill before looking anxiously at Athos. Everyone was cold, but while the rest of them might be cursing it or at the very worst end up with a chill, it could be dangerous for the wounded man. If he was cold, Athos wasn't showing it though, although it looked as though Porthos had sacrificed his cloak as well at some point, adding to the pile in a futile attempt to hold the chill and damp at bay from the injured man. However, Aramis had a feeling that it had more to do with the threatening fever than anything else, which was a worrying thought.

His watch passed slowly, and Aramis found it hard not to stay awake, but to keep his attention split between watching their surroundings and keeping an eye on Athos, finding his attention lingering most of the time on Athos.

It was as the sky that peeked through the cover of the trees began to lighten, softening from inky darkness to a deep blue that promised of the morning to come, that Athos grew restless again. At first, it was just a faint shifting, enough to draw Aramis' attention but not to cause too much concern. Then he seemed to move too far, catching his injuries, the soft gasp of pain as loud as a scream in the quiet, and Aramis was already shuffling closer with a reassurance on his lips, when Athos moved again, with more purpose this time.

"Athos," he murmured, leaning over the other man, and sure enough Athos' eyes were open, although not entirely, as though he was still fighting against unconsciousness. "Athos, can you hear me?" He added, trying to draw his attention, and it took a little longer than he liked for Athos to blink and focus on him, and for a moment he could have sworn that there was a lack of recognition in that gaze. Then Athos blinked again, heavier this time, eyes focusing a little.

"A-Aramis…" He croaked, voice ruined, and Aramis was hit by the unfortunate thought of how he must've cried out as he fell, breath catching for a moment. _He's still here. He's alive,_ he reminded himself sternly, but his hands still shook as he reached for the waterskin they'd left untouched and close for this very moment.

"Here," he murmured, carefully easing a hand under Athos head and lifting him so that he could drink. "Let me do it," he scolded, feeling Athos trying to take more of his weight, and he chose to pretend that it was his tone that got Athos to obey, although he had a feeling it was more exhaustion and his injuries. Especially when the other man only managed a couple of clumsy sips, before sagging with a small shake of his head to show that he was done. Aramis frowned, but carefully eased him down and set the waterskin down within reach, hoping to coax more down him later.

"Where…?" Athos asked after a moment of quiet, that had left Aramis thinking that he might have drifted off again already.

"We're still in the woods," Aramis replied quietly, trying not to disturb the others and noting the furrow between Athos' eyes deepen. "It wasn't safe to try and move you last night," he continued, seeing the confusion that had greeted his words, wondering if Athos had heard his protests about moving him to safety before passing out. However, even with his clarification, the confusion didn't ease. If anything, it seemed to ratchet up a knot, as Athos' gaze drifted around their small camp, and into the darkness beyond as though only now noticing it for the first time. And Aramis felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he watched what little comprehension there had been disappear completely, leaning forward, and waving a hand to catch Athos' attention once more, noticing the sluggish return of the other man's gaze. "Athos, do you remember what happened?"

"I…" There was a flash of fear, but it was short-lived and then Athos was frowning, clearly frustrated as he shook his head again, the gesture clearly paining him as he winced. "I- I don't…" he admitted finally, caught between frustration and confusion, and a new, different fear as his eyes flickered back to the darkness around them and then back to Aramis. "I…"

"It's all right," Aramis soothed as best he could, which was hard as his heart was pounding and there was a rushing in his ears, as all his hopeful assurances from earlier seemed to fade away. Of course, Athos couldn't leave it at that, and now he was moving purposefully, fighting against the covers they'd tucked close to try and stop him shifting too much and injuring himself.

"But…"

"Stop," Aramis ordered, reaching out to try and stop him, just as a strangled gasp informed him that he was too late in preventing Athos from injuring himself. The noise was enough to rouse Porthos, who bolted upright, searching for a threat and immediately tensing as his eyes fell on the scene in front of him. Aramis spared him a glance, hands now on Athos' shoulders and gently pressing him down, mindful of the injured one. "Athos," he snapped when the other man tried to fight him, slipping into the tone he only used when they had pushed him too far. Apparently, Athos recognised that at least, because he immediately still, staring up at Aramis flushed and wide-eyed, breathing heavily from his attempts to get free. "You're injured." It was safe enough to say that because the pain was written across the pale features. "So, I need you to be still and listen to us."

He waited a moment to see if there was going to be a protest, but the fight seemed to have gone out of Athos, as had a fair bit of colour. "I need to check your shoulder," Aramis added with a sinking feeling, taking the slow blink as permission, as he began to ease some of the covers aside. A curse bubbling up as he found darker spots on the bandages that hadn't been there the last time he'd checked, and he only just managed to stop himself from saying it aloud as he felt Athos watching him. "Stay here, and don't move any more, you've gone and torn some of your stitches," he scolded, glaring at Athos until he was confident he would obey, although there was an exhausted droop to the other man that told him that Athos likely lacked the energy for any further defiance.

Still, he hesitated before rising and moving across to Porthos who had been watching them in concern, beckoning for him to lean in closer. "We need to get him out of here," Aramis said urgently, trying to keep his voice low so that Athos wouldn't pick up on the full extent of his distress. The last thing they needed was him getting more agitated and risking more of the delicate stitch job, although he needn't have worried as it looked as though Athos had either dozed off or passed out again while he was talking, although that only deepened his worry. "He's getting worse, and he managed to tear some of the stitches, and I can't really do much about that out here."

"It's light enough that we should be able to see what we're doing as long as we're careful," Porthos was looking up to where the sky was just visible in places, still a darker blue than they would have liked, but light enough. "How do you want to do this? I don't think strapping him across one of the horses is the best idea at the moment."

"Absolutely not," Aramis paled at the thought of it. It might be their usual method of carting around an injured member, but that was usually dealing with less severe wounds and with an easier ride to safety, not traipsing through the woods. "He'll need to ride with someone, and you're probably the best choice as you'll be able to keep him contained if he starts fighting you." _When,_ he corrected himself as he studied Athos, noting that the flush was spreading and growing more vivid against the too-pale skin, but he didn't say that aloud, knowing that it would only make Porthos worry more, and one of them needed to keep a level head.

"So, he gets to punch me in the face?" Porthos demanded, trying to sound offended, and failing as he glanced anxiously at Athos, the guilt from the previous evening making a resurgence.

"It wouldn't be the first time, and you can take it," Aramis retorted, trying to keep him focused elsewhere, knowing that he had been successful at least for the time being when Porthos snorted loudly.

"You just don't want him messing up your pretty face," he retorted, before moving across to shake D'Artagnan awake before Aramis could register what he'd said, let alone think about retaliating, although they both knew he'd get him back for it later.

Later, when Athos wasn't deteriorating in front of their eyes.

There was more speed than finesse as they tore down their camp and readied the horses. Athos had roused again briefly, leading to another round of questions and restlessness, ruining Aramis' attempts to keep the others calm about the situation, as there was no way to mask Athos' confusion. Mercifully, they heeded his stern glare and didn't start panicking – aloud at least, although he had a feeling that he would hear about it once things were more settled. Still, he felt a fresh appreciation for them as Porthos soothed Athos with quiet words, even managing to draw a strained attempt at a smile from the other man before he'd fallen quiet once more, and D'Artagnan focused on taking down the last of the camp with the same single-mindedness that he had once come after Athos with.

It was even more nerve-wracking moving Athos this morning, and not just because he'd got worse or the spreading blood spots that they could see on the bandages. Porthos was in the saddle, waiting to settle him, which meant that Aramis and D'Artagnan were responsible for getting him up to the other man. The latter going about it, pale-faced but determined, listening intently to their instructions. Aramis was trembling, hyper-aware that each movement, every touch could be doing more damage, and by the time they had Athos settled in front of Athos, he was breathing hard and drenched in sweat. "Have you got him?" This time he couldn't stop himself from asking, needing the reassurance even though he could see with his own eyes that Porthos had a firm grip on Athos, curling protectively around the wounded man as he nodded grimly.

"I've got him, now let's get the hell out of here."


	5. Chapter 5

The rising sun did little to make the woods seem more hospitable, then again it had been a while since they'd all been so keen to get away from somewhere. Even with the improved light, it took them a while to find a passable path through the trees, any trace of D'Artagnan's path from the previous night having been obliterated by the rain, and even then, it was a best guess. The going was slow because as keen as they were to get Athos out of here and find somewhere warm and dry and patch him up properly, they couldn't risk the horses. The ground was a treacherous quagmire of deep mud and tree roots, and Aramis' horse had almost bolted for the hills when a deer startled by the unexpected human invasion had darted across their path.

In the end, they'd found their way back to the base of the quarry wall and followed that, quiet and unsettled in its shadow. And Aramis knew that he wasn't the only one who kept darting looks at it and the top rim of it that was now visible as the sky brightened and wondered how anyone could have survived that. Every glance was then followed by another in Athos' direction, a reassurance that he was still there with him. Although there was little encouragement to be found by the sight, as he sat pressed against Porthos, head lolling with the motion of the horse, pale features stark in the improved light and the flush of fever brighter than before. Every now and then he would mumble something, the words slurred and incoherent, although Porthos clearly caught a word or two, as his expression was growing steadily darker as they progressed.

Eventually, the rough track they had found themselves on started to rise, and it was D'Artagnan who pointed out that they must have come in from the opposite side as this path was broader than the one, they'd traversed the night before. Not enough for them to ride abreast yet, especially as the edge of the path was thick with rubble and lead into a fairly steep incline that none of them wanted to dare. But enough for Aramis to fall back alongside Porthos, letting the youngest lead the way as he leaned across to check on Athos. He didn't manage to elicit a response from the injured man but took some small comfort that apart from a couple more specks of blood on the bandages, they were still intact, and he didn't seem to be at risk of bleeding out. Porthos didn't seem to share his relief though, frowning as he adjusted his hold. "Feels like I'm too close to a roaring fire…"

"I know," Aramis grimaced. "We'll need to try and get some more water into him soon, once we're clear of this place. I'm not sure if it's an infection, the head injury, shock and being out in weather like this all night, or a combination of all of them, and there's not much I can do out here…" The admission left a foul taste in his mouth. It wasn't the first time they'd been caught out in the open without supplies, but it had been a while, and he had forgotten how helpless it made him feel. Hated that he had the skills to help Athos, but not the tools and that even with the tools, there was only so much he could do.

"I wasn't saying that," Porthos protested.

"I know," Aramis reassured him, trying to smile, but feeling for himself that it was more of a grimace. "Doesn't change the fact that I feel useless out here."

"He's still here," Porthos pointed out, although it was ruined by the way his arm tensed around Athos as though to reassure himself of that fact. "That's because of you if you hadn't…" He didn't finish the thought. That was another unspoken rule, don't speak of 'what if's' especially if it could have been worse, Aramis couldn't remember who had instigated that rule, possibly Athos now that he thought about it.

D'Artagnan had slowed to wait for them, scanning the path ahead and the top of the quarry with narrowed eyes, his gaze flicking to Athos and away again, clearly troubled by the sight of the older man. "What do you suppose the chances are of them waiting for us?" He asked when they caught up, and Aramis wasn't entirely sure which of them had cursed as he shared a look with Porthos, neither of them having thought about that. They hadn't given it a second thought when the remaining bandits had fled and considering how difficult it had been for them to get into the quarry, and later they'd had more important things to worry about. However, their previous confidence that their diminished numbers would keep the bandits at bay were countered by the knowledge and painfully earned experience that travelling with a visibly injured member tended to be like painting a target on your back.

"If they had any sense they'd have run for the hills," Porthos rumbled, the threat evident in his voice and that seemed to rouse Athos a little, as he stirred and muttered something that sounded almost like 'run them through' before he settled once more, and despite everything, Porthos grinned. It was a little strained around the edges, but still, a grin as he shook his head. "Seems, they're not the only one lacking sense around here…" The humour was there, but it fell flat, because if anything the words had just reminded them that Athos couldn't fight right now, and given that Porthos was the only thing keeping him in the saddle that ruled him out of a fight, and Aramis and D'Artagnan shared a look before the former nodded.

"If our current luck holds, then get him out of here," Aramis ordered. "We'll either deal with them, or lead them away, and regroup later… if you can find somewhere warm and dry to hole up all the better."

"But…"

"This is not a discussion," Aramis cut him off, sounding so much like Athos that they both froze for a moment, wide-eyed, and Porthos was the first to look away. "You can't fight and keep him on that horse at the same time, and we can't fight all-out knowing that he's in danger." In a small way, it had been good that they hadn't known Athos' fate until after the fight the previous evening because it would have been impossible to focus, even if it had cost them valuable time.

"Fine…" Porthos muttered. "But if you get yourselves killed, I'm setting Athos and the Captain on you."

"Likewise."

"I'm sure they'd be delighted to have a captive audience," D'Artagnan threw in with a roll of his eyes, before urging his horse forward again before either of them could react. Leading them to share a glance behind his back, hearing Athos' influence in those words.

They were quiet as they finally crested the top of the quarry, Porthos riding in the middle of them now in case of an ambush, hands hovering close to weapons as they scanned the area for any sign of danger.

The attack, when it came, was from an unexpected source.

Porthos was about to suggest that they get moving, when Athos shifted against him, derailing him especially when there was purpose in that movement this time, the wounded man trying to push himself up and trembling with the effort. Instinctively, he'd tightened his hold, not wanting Athos to tumble out of his grasp, wincing just at the thought of what a fall would do to his injuries. Unfortunately, he might as well have pulled a trigger, because Athos came alive in his arms, sensing danger in the restraint and too out of it to realise who it was. "Aramis!" He yelped, narrowly avoiding a flailing arm, remembering their jokes – that hadn't really been jokes – about getting punched in the face, having no respite, because when his hands failed to make contact, Athos went for the next option and jerked his head back.

Bone broke, and colours exploded in front of his eyes as he felt blood beginning to trickle down his face, and he reeled, grip loosening for a moment on Athos. The pain was spreading across his face, a roaring in his ears. Still, it wasn't enough for him to miss Athos' grunt of pain and panicked cry as he started to slip, and somehow he managed to grip him again before he slipped, but his horse was agitated by the commotion, whinnying in distress and prancing sidewards. "Help…" He managed to force out, and even that hurt.

"Athos! Porthos!" There were hands-on his legs, and despite himself, he flinched before recognising Aramis' voice, realising that the others had dismounted, D'Artagnan grasping his reins as Aramis moved to catch Athos who was half out of his hold now. "I've got him. Porthos, it's okay, you can let go now."

He could hear the words, the certainty in Aramis' voice, but it was only when he blinked, clearing his vision enough to make out Aramis' worried expression and to see him supporting Athos, ready to take his full weight that he dared loosen his grip. Reluctant to release him, even though everything hurt and his vision was blurry to say the best. It took everything he had to let Aramis take Athos fully, easing the still struggling man out of the saddle and down to the ground, as D'Artagnan guided the horse and Porthos to the side, so they didn't trample Athos on top of everything else.

"I've got him. D'Artagnan help Porthos," Aramis ordered, not waiting for a reply from either of them, before shifting his attention to Athos who was bucking against his hold, trying to claw his way out of Aramis' hold. Porthos decided to take some grim amusement from the fact that Athos managed to catch Aramis in the chin amid being guided to the ground. "Athos! Athos, I need you to calm down."

Porthos let D'Artagnan help him down, biting back a protest as the world swam for a moment before settling, grimacing as he tasted blood and pressing his sleeve against his nose. Light-headed as he pressed a little too hard, before finding a balance between stopping the blood and pressing too hard, leaning forward and trying to breathe through his mouth as he tried to keep an eye on Aramis and Athos.

Athos was still fighting the other man, but what strength he'd found, driven by fear and confusion more than anything was depleting. However, he'd found his voice now, hissing threats at Aramis that would have been more effective if they couldn't see him teetering on the edge of collapse again. Although Porthos was impressed with his vocabulary considering the situation, and blearily made a note of some of the more creative ones to either use in the future or regale Athos with once he was well enough to appreciate them. Aramis looked a little perturbed at being the target of most of them, although it didn't bleed into his voice, which remained quiet and soothing, even when he lifted an eyebrow at a particularly descriptive threat.

"I don't think that one is anatomically possible Athos, although I expect we can find a Red Guard for you to experiment on…" Whether exhaustion had finally caught up with him, or Aramis' droll tone had derailed him, Athos trailed off and slumped against him, all of them holding their breath for a terrifying moment, before he shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

"…Aramis?" Uncertainty didn't suit Athos, and Porthos wasn't the only one to wince at his tone, even though it was a relief to have a semblance of coherence.

"The one and only," Aramis replied, ignoring Porthos' whispered 'thank god' with nothing but a twitching eyebrow to show that he heard. "Are you back with us?"

"I…" Athos frowned, and winced as with awareness undoubtedly came pain, and he lifted a trembling hand to his shoulder, brushing against the bandages. Bandages that were rapidly turning crimson, Porthos realised with a muffled curse, waving off D'Artagnan as the younger man tried to check his nose, thinking he had hurt himself further. "What happened?" Athos demanded, pawing at the bandages until Aramis reached out to catch his hand before he could do more damage.

"You were injured, do you remember me telling you that?"

"I…No?" That clearly wasn't the answer that Aramis had been hoping for, because his expression crumpled for a moment. Allowing D'Artagnan and Porthos see the full force of his worry before he managed to school it into a passably reassuring expression as Athos blinked up at him, clearly agitated by the lack of memory.

"You had a nasty fall, and we need to get you somewhere where we can patch you up," Aramis explained in a slow, clear voice. "So, you need to stop fighting us."

"…fight?" Athos' gaze darted around, alarm in his eyes, not comprehending what Aramis had said to him. When his gaze landed on Porthos, his eyes widened, and his expression could have been called thunderous was it not for the wince that followed as he tried to move. "Porthos?"

"I'm fine," Porthos assured him, voice thick, each word making his head pound. But there was no way in hell that he was going to tell Athos that he was responsible when he looked so concerned and alarmed. "Just wrong place, wrong time," he shrugged it off, grinning through bloody fingers. Athos didn't look convinced, but his attention was already wavering, moving to D'Artagnan, the restless horses, the edge of the quarry – and for a moment fear flickered across his face.

"Athos?" Aramis had noticed.

"I…" Athos' face clouded over, and he shook his head before any of them could stop him, and the colour bled from his face, and then he was leaning sideways. Trying to pull away from Aramis who shifted to hold him, as he vomited to the side, retching and choking on bile and blood, and Porthos winced in sympathy, as he all but whimpered between waves.

It seemed to last forever, and Athos was pale and quivering by the end of it, eyes half-mast, and Aramis the only thing stopping him from face-planting into his own vomit. "Easy Athos," Aramis soothed, easing him away from it, and there was no missing the quaver in his voice now, or the worry in his eyes as he glanced towards them. "D'Artagnan can you bring me some water." Porthos nodded when D'Artagnan glanced at him, moving towards Aramis as the younger Musketeer retrieved the flask and moved to join them. Silently handing it to Aramis, and hovering at a loss at what to do with himself, as they watched Aramis coax Athos into taking a couple of mouthfuls to rinse out his mouth. Athos refusing to drink more than that, leaving Aramis' lips in a thin line by the time he abandoned his attempts to get more fluids into Athos. The argument won by Athos closing his eyes and slumping against him, not quite out, but not entirely with them either. "How's your nose?"

"Painful," Porthos admitted, cautiously lowering his hand, and wincing at the state of his shirt sleeve. "How does it look?"

"Painful," Aramis and D'Artagnan replied in unison, startling a laugh out of him which turned into a hiss of pain.

"Don't make me laugh," he growled at them, dabbing cautiously at his nose, but the bleeding seemed to have largely stopped, and he let his hand fall away and took a cautious breath. Painful, but he'd had worse. Athos had worse, and he looked at the wounded man. "We need to keep moving," he continued, even though if he was honest, he wanted nothing more than to curl up, drink enough to take the edge of the pain and sleep. However, that wasn't really an option, and he knew without asking that Aramis had nothing left to deal with his nose, or more importantly the fresh blood still soaking through Athos' bandages.

"I should take him this time…"

"No," Porthos shook his head, mindful of his nose. "I'm still the best one to keep him in the saddle, besides he's already caught your beautiful face once, wouldn't want to risk it again." It's teasing, but they both know he's deadly serious, sharing a prolonged look before Aramis nodded with a sigh.

"You're right, of course." A flash of teeth in a weak smile. "Just try not to wrestle with the injured patient, and lose again, all right?" Porthos opened his mouth to retort, ready to point out that he wasn't about to wrestle Athos at the moment, but Aramis was already leaning over Athos, patting one fever-reddened cheek to get the wounded man's attention. It took a moment to coax Athos to open his eyes, and another for his gaze to focus enough for them to even hope that he would understand what he was being told. "We're going to move you again, so don't fight us all right?"

"I can ride…"

"Absolutely not," Aramis scolded, as Athos' words hung for a moment in incredulous silence. "You are in no state to be sitting up, let alone riding, so get that thought out of your head. Porthos is going to take you." Athos attention had been wavering again, confusion settling in again, but at the mention of Porthos he frowned, and his eyes drifted towards the man in question.

"…hurt…"

"I've had worse, so don't worry about little old me," Porthos assured him, even as he hoped that he wasn't going to have another fight on his hand. Athos didn't look convinced, but he was visibly failing now, blinking slow and heavy, gaze drifting off to one side, eyes threatening to close.

"Athos?" Aramis prompted.

"…tell the Captain I won't make it in today…" Athos said, and if his words weren't concerning enough, the slurring at the end was, as though he was knee-deep in his cups, even though they knew he hadn't had a drop. Then he frowned and tried to open his eyes properly, trying to rally himself. "…Porthos either… because…because…" A noise that was half-sigh, half pained moan slipped out as he trailed off, eyes closing completely, and there was a stillness that told them he was unconscious again.

"We'll let him know," Aramis said drily, before taking a deep breath and looking at Porthos. "Are you sure you're okay to take him?"

"I'm fine, although next time I'll take the bandits," Porthos muttered, ghosting fingers over his nose but not daring to touch it.

"Don't tempt the fates," Aramis muttered. "With the way our lucks going, they might just take you up on that. D'Artagnan you'll have to help me move him, and we need to mind that shoulder, I think the stitches are gone completely after this little escapade."

"Can't you…"

"We're running on empty," Porthos cut D'Artagnan off, knowing that Aramis was already worried enough about it, without having to put it into words. "So, the sooner we get out of here, the better," he added, already moving to his horse, patting his neck and promising him a good meal when they found a place to stay before mounting up, and moving his mount closer to reduce the distance they needed to move Athos.

There was a tense moment when they lifted Athos, and he shifted with a pained murmur but didn't rouse. Aramis pale and tight-lipped as he directed D'Artagnan, and they carefully eased him back into the saddle in front of Porthos, who was warier than he cared to admit as he slipped an arm around Athos this time. However, there was no response, even when he slowly, cautiously tightened his grip to make sure that the other man wouldn't slip, and finally, he nodded. "Got him."

This time as they moved out, and with the path mercifully widening out, Aramis moved to ride directly beside Porthos, on edge and ready in case Athos roused again, leaving D'Artagnan to take the lead. This seemed to suit the younger man as he was visibly off-kilter whenever he looked back to check on them, gaze always lingering a second longer on Athos.

"He's getting worse," Porthos murmured, eventually breaking the strained quiet once the quarry had passed out of sight, as they followed the path back towards what they hoped would be civilisation, trees closing around them once more. It wasn't a question, and Aramis hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking towards D'Artagnan for a moment, making sure that he was focused on the path ahead before nodding. "Is…?"

"He will be fine, it's Athos we're talking about…" Aramis interrupted, voice low and fierce, refusing to accept any other outcome. "I-if…" Despite his fierce expression, his voice wavered and broke. "We just need to get him somewhere with proper supplies, somewhere safe and dry and then…" Bark splintered on the trunk of the tree just ahead of them, both horse neighing in alarm, wheeling in alarm as another shot – the thunder of it far too close for comfort – took out Aramis' hat.

"What were you saying about our luck?" Porthos demanded, struggling to rein his mount in and hold on to Athos as ahead D'Artagnan was already out of his saddle, blade unsheathed as he moved towards where there was movement in the trees lining the path.

"Whatever it was I take it back," Aramis muttered after a curse, bringing his horse in close enough to reach out and slap the rump of Porthos' horse just as he'd bought it under control. "Now get him out of here." He ordered as Porthos' horse bolted forwards, the slap too much after the shots, leaving Porthos with no choice but to hold on to Athos and the reins as they charged forwards, surging past D'Artagnan just as the first figure broke the treeline, and another shot rang out. Porthos cursing as he felt it come too close to his ear for comfort, hunkering over Athos as best he could, forming a human shield as they fled. His heart in his mouth as he heard the clash of metal, the neighing of horses behind them, unable to even risk glancing back, Athos heavy and too warm in his arms, pain radiating across his face as their pace increased, a whispered prayer on his lips.

_Don't die…_


	6. Chapter 6

Aramis hadn't had a chance to make sure that Porthos had managed to get himself and Athos to safety, as the moment his hand had left the rump of the other man's horse, he'd been knocked aside as two men had tackled him to the ground. There were no cliffs to worry about here, and he could hear D'Artagnan cursing loudly enough to reassure him that if he was injured, it wasn't serious, and with difficulty, he pushed the others out of his thoughts and focused on the fight at hand.

Taking a leaf out of Athos' book, he jerked his head back, pain blossoming across the back of his own as there was a howl from behind him, followed by the sound of someone choking on their own blood and possibly a tooth or two from the feeling at the back of his head. At the same time, he flung up his hands, catching the second man by the wrist just in time to stop the knife that had been about to drive downwards into his chest, baring his teeth in a snarl as they wrestled over the blade. Twice it came close enough to slash him, the first time catching nothing but leather and cloth, the second time leaving a line of fire across his shoulder and he felt the dampness of blood welling up.

Something slammed into them as he recoiled, knocking his assailant to the side and Aramis seized the opportunity, twisting the blade around and thrusting it up and through the man's chest, tilting his face to the side to avoid the resulting spray of blood. Flinging the body to the side he rolled to his feet, retrieving his blade and launching himself forwards as he realised that D'Artagnan was hard-pressed, his back to the trunk of a large tree, two bodies already at his feet, and a bloody gash down the side of his face.

Aramis slammed bodily into two of the men pressing the younger man, driving his sword deep into one, even as he wrapped his arm around the other man's throat, using his weight to bear them both to the ground. Unfortunately, the second wasn't willing to go down as easily as the first, and they rolled across the ground, each trying to get the upper hand and Aramis had to arch his head back to avoid the fingers reaching for his eyes. Eventually giving up and biting at one of the groping hands, suddenly struck by the memory of telling D'Artagnan that anything went in a proper fight. The man jerked and cried out, trying to break free, and Aramis was about to let him when there was a flash of metal, and the man went limp, and he felt the blood soaking into his clothes a split second before D'Artagnan was there nudging the body aside and offering him a hand up. He took it with a nod towards the bloody gash. "Looks painful."

"I've had worse, and…" Whatever else he had been about to say was lost as there was another shot fired, Aramis jerking him to the side just in time, as the bark on the tree exploded level with D'Artagnan's head had been, both of them sharing a brief, wide-eyed look, before they whirled to face the new threat.

"Stubborn aren't they," Aramis commented, falling into step beside the younger man as he retrieved his sword just as more men emerged from the treeline on either side of them.

"I would have gone with stupid," D'Artagnan corrected, deliberately loud as they shared a brief sideways look and a nod before lunging, taking the fight to them, and keeping all attention on them rather than the path that Porthos and Athos had taken.

The sounds of fighting had long since faded into the distance by the time Porthos dared to bring his horse to a halt. The gelding fighting for its head, agitated after the gunshots, the slap to the rump and then Porthos own urgent urging to try and put as much distance between them and the fight as possible, snorting and stamping as he reined it, letting it turn them to face the way they'd come.

Murmuring soothing words, even as his own heart hammered in his chest, Porthos tilted his head and looked back down the path.

Waiting.

Watching.

Listening.

There was no sign of pursuit, at least for the time being, so either the other two were keeping them occupied or had led them off in the opposite direction, and he wasn't sure which was worse. It wasn't that he doubted that they could handle themselves or the bandits, especially as Aramis would be fighting with all the fury of a mother hen separated from its chick. What he doubted was their luck, which seemed to have abandoned them entirely on this trip, and the separation, however, necessary was making him uneasy. Rolling his shoulders and trying not to move his face too much as now he wasn't focused on fleeing the pain had returned ten-fold, throbbing with each heaving breath that he took, he tried to settle himself and the horse, before turning his attention to his passenger.

"Athos?" He asked, leaning forward, trying to get a look at the other man's face. Athos' head was slumped forward resting against his chest, and what Porthos could see of his face was anything but reassuring, both cheeks flushed, and sweat beading against much too pale skin, his eyes closed. "Athos, are you with me?" There was no reply, not that he had really been expecting one as Athos had given no sign of being aware of their desperate flight, for which Porthos was relieved if he was honest. As he had a feeling that Athos would have fought tooth and nail if he'd realised that they were leaving their friends behind, not that Porthos felt any better about it, although he knew that Aramis was right to have sent them away.

He also had no idea how to deal with Athos' injuries, and the one person that he would trust around here to take care of him was now somewhere behind him fighting for his and their lives. Sure, Porthos had picked up enough on his own and under Aramis' insistence to deal with minor injuries, but he had seen the worry that Aramis hadn't been able to hide when Athos had been awake and knew that this way beyond anything he could deal with on his own. "What a bloody mess," he muttered, eyes flicking down to the bloodied bandages even as he tightened his hold on Athos, looking back along the path once more as though hoping that the other two would come riding up behind them.

There was nothing and shifting uneasily he turned his attention to the rest of their surroundings. The trees were thinning out up ahead, opening into farmland, which he hoped would mean somewhere where they could shelter until the other two could catch up. _If they catch up,_ a voice whispered, that sounded far too much like Athos at his most cynical, and he couldn't stop himself from checking to see if the other man had stirred. He hadn't, and Porthos shook his head, more amused than anything as it seemed that they had been spending far too much time together. Sobering he looked around again, torn by indecision. For all that he had agreed with Aramis' order to get Athos to safety, he wasn't happy with leaving them behind, and the thought of moving on rather than waiting for them left him with a foul taste in his mouth. But, on the other hand, he wanted to get Athos somewhere warm and safe, even if that was all that he could do for him until Aramis reached them, and he gnawed at his bottom lip for a moment before making a decision.

Settling back into the saddle, he adjusted his hold on Athos and nudged his mount forwards. Away from the others and towards the promise of the farmland. He kept his horse to a walk, all of them needing the change of pace now that the immediate danger was gone, listening intently as they rode for any sign of pursuit and any sign of Athos stirring.

"This was your idea," D'Artagnan shot over his shoulder as he was pressed back into Aramis, the pair having moved to cover one another's back when it became clear that they were going to have finish things where they were rather than leading them elsewhere. Lunging forward for a moment, his blade sliding under one of the bandit's and twisting sharply to the side, tossing it off to the side somewhere amongst the bushes, only to grunt, as weaponless the other man lashed out with a clenched fist catching his cheek. The blow sent him stumbling back, knocking into Aramis who steadied him without looking, locked in his own duel.

"You didn't argue," Aramis pointed out, cutting his opponent down the front sending him to his knees, and knocking him to the ground with a boot to the chest, already slashing the man trying to climb over the downed bandit.

"You didn't give me a chance," D'Artagnan retorted, and that was all that they had time for before they were pressed on all sides once more, falling into a rhythm of lunging forward to make room for them to fight and then immediately falling back to cover one another. Both highly aware of Porthos and Athos' absence, the four of them having trained hard to be able to fight around one another in close quarters.

The bandits had numbers and desperation on their side, and they doubted that they'd been up all night watching over their injured, but Aramis and D'Artagnan had the skill, and with Athos and Porthos in the wind, neither of them were taking the risk of letting a single one of them get away.

Porthos had finally spotted something that could be used without going too far off the beaten path, an old barn, still used by the looks of the path that had been cleared to its doors, but in disrepair in one of the fields just barely in sight of the road they had been following. It wouldn't be much of a hiding place if it was the bandits that came after them. Still, he was hoping that it would be much more welcome company coming after them and he didn't want to hide away from them, especially as Athos was still slumped in his arms, burning a little warmer although Porthos heartily hoped that was his imagination.

He hesitated for a moment at the end of the field, glancing back behind him, wanting to leave a sign for the others but unable to dismount, unwilling to risk moving Athos more than necessary. Finally, he sighed and reached up to remove his hat. "You're lucky I like you," Porthos muttered to Athos as he stared at his hat for a moment. "This is my best hat." Then he dropped his hat on the ground beneath one of the trees that lined the boundary of the field, a signpost for the others so that they did not ride straight past them, and where it would hopefully survive the worst of the weather, and wouldn't mean anything to the men that had attacked them. With nothing else to do but wait and hope that Aramis and D'Artagnan caught up and saw the sign, he nudged his horse forward down a short embankment and then along the edge of the field, mindful of the crops, not wanting an angry farmer on their heels as well.

The closer they got to the barn, the more doubtful it became. The roof was in dire need of repair, shuttered windows had been boarded up, and the front doors were barely holding at the hinges. It was far from ideal, and part of him was tempted to keep moving and try and find somewhere better, but he was worried about the others, and as he hesitated, Athos stirred slightly in his arms. Not waking, but shifting and groaning under his breath, the sound far too loud in the silence. "Athos?" He leaned forward, and Athos murmured something, but Porthos couldn't make out the words, if they'd even made sense, as the other man seemed more flushed, eyes dancing beneath his lids, lashes fluttering. "Well, I suppose it's better than nothing…" He muttered, more to himself than his passenger as he glanced back up at the barn with a wrinkled nose, and it was certainly better than another night out in the rain and under the trees.

He just wished it was better.

Reining in his mount, he paused for a moment to catch his breath, feeling the throbbing in his face flare for a moment and wincing, immediately regretting it as it flared higher. Injured and out of it Athos might have been, but he'd done a fair amount of damage, not that Porthos had any intention of informing him of his actions if he could help it, not wanting to see the guilt and closed off expression that would follow.

Cautiously he dismounted awkwardly, keeping one arm around Athos as best as possible to stop him from falling out of the saddle. Cursing as his horse skittered to the side and nearly spilt them both onto the ground, managing to catch the reins just in time without releasing Athos. "This was a terrible idea," he grumbled, not sure whether he was talking about getting them both of the horse, or the fact that he had been entrusted with Athos. Not that there was much he could do about either. Shaking his head, and still bracing Athos in the saddle, he moved his horse forward so that he could loop the reins over one of the boards protruding over the window, before focusing on Athos. "Don't hit me," he said, the words falling on deaf ears as Athos had settled once more, just a furrow between his eyes to show that wasn't as deeply out of it as he had been, and Porthos held his breath as he eased him out of the saddle, praying that he wasn't going to make things worse.

Athos didn't stir, not even when Porthos leaned him against the side of the barn, far enough away from the horse that he wouldn't be caught if it spooked again. Part of him itched to reach out and shake him, wanting the reassurance of seeing his eyes open, but he didn't have anything to ease the pain that he would be in and so he resisted, making sure he wouldn't topple over before moving to examine the barn door. It was locked, although Porthos had to wonder why they'd bothered as even a smaller man than him could have easily ripped the doors off their hinges, and the lock wasn't in a much better state. Muttering an apology, he broke the lock, deciding that would be easier to fix than the hinges, and pulled one of the doors open, peering inside with one hand on the hilt of his blade, not about to trust their luck at the moment.

The inside wasn't much more inspiring than the outside and seemed to be used more for storage than anything, tools and what looked to be an old cart minus a wheel filling one side of the barn, while the other had what looked to be stalls, although the doors were long gone and most of them were packed with sacks and barrels. Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust and possibly worse, and the air smelt musty as he ventured inside. Looking around and grimacing as he tilted his head up and looked at the roof, part of it was gone, and he could make out the boards and thatching amongst the tools and filling the cart, and even the part that remained had spaces, letting in beams of sunlight. "I almost miss the forest." Still, it was shelter, and he didn't fancy trying to get Athos back into the saddle by himself, so they were going to have to make do with what he had.

Heading back outside, he checked on Athos, relieved and dismayed in equal measure to find that he hadn't stirred, before moving to the horse and unhitching it. He led him inside, tying him up in the empty stall and promising to try and find some proper food once he had Athos settled, stroking his nose, before moving to retrieve his bedroll and waterskin from the saddle. Scouting around for the cleanest spot he could find on the ground, and set it up as quickly as possible, before going to fetch Athos, only to find the man was awake, eyes half-lidded and unfocused as he stared out across the field. "Athos," he crouched beside him and then moved into his line of sight when Athos failed to look at him. "Athos?!" He lifted his voice a little, and that a got a reaction, although he wasn't going to call that a victory because Athos had winced, the volume clearly grating on his pounding head. "Sorry," he soothed, dropping his voice, daring to reach out and rest a hand on the other man's uninjured shoulder, hoping he wasn't going to get punched.

"…Porthos?" It was a breath of sound, more pained groan than a word, but Porthos didn't care, realising a small part of him had been worried that Athos wouldn't even recognise him after his confusion earlier. "…where…?" It clearly cost him to talk, some of the words getting lost along the way, but Porthos didn't need them to know that he wasn't asking about where they were, but where the others were.

"They're going to catch up with us," Porthos said eventually, weighing his words, not sure if Athos had been aware of the ambush, and not ready to admit that he'd left them behind to fight. Unfortunately, that seemed to sharpen Athos' focus, and for the first time, his eyes settled on Porthos properly.

"Where…?"

"Athos…" Porthos sighed, studying him. He was leaning to the side, lips parted as he breathed a little too loudly, the flush vivid in the daylight and mirrored by an unhealthy light in his eyes, and already his gaze was starting to drift, just missing Porthos' face and settling somewhere just over his ear. But there was a stubborn set to his jaw, despite his apparent weariness and the pain that lined his face, and Porthos knew that he wasn't going to drop the matter until he passed out. "We ran into a spot of trouble," he admitted finally, holding up a hand to stop the questions or rather demands that he could see bubbling up. "They're fine," he said, pleased that he sounded as though he believed it. "And neither of us were in any state to fight." It was risky mentioning his own injury, but he knew it would distract Athos, and sure enough, his eyes flicked towards his nose and the blood that Porthos could feel dried on his skin.

"B-but…" Athos tried to sound stern, or angry, Porthos wasn't sure, but he was fading, and it was breathy and came out as a groan as he tried to push himself up and realised that was a bad idea a split second before Porthos stopped him, steadying him and holding him in place effortlessly.

"They are fine," he enunciated, hoping that he wasn't telling a lie. _Aramis, you better get yourself and D'Artagnan back here in one piece, otherwise, Athos is going to kill me,_ he thought, relieved that Athos seemed to be listening. Or maybe he was too far gone to argue any further, his focus lost to the wind, as his gaze drifted back to the field, the furrow between his eyes was deepening.

"I…I don't…" He trailed off, as though he wasn't even sure what he was trying to say, let alone about anything else, and Porthos' relief dissipated like the warmth of the winter sun before the chill night air, and his shoulders slumped, even as he squeezed Athos' shoulder lightly.

"It's all right, I've got you and the others are going to catch up with us," he soothed, voice low and reassuring, not even sure if Athos was hearing the words now. "Let's get you inside?" He voiced it as a question, not expecting an answer as Athos' eyes were more closed than open at this point. "I'll take that as a yes, then," he muttered, shifting his grip so that he could lift Athos, not wanting to try asking him to help. Which is of course what Athos did, fighting against him to try and get his feet under him, his legs refusing to cooperate as he cried out in pain and ended up all but collapsing against Porthos who had been braced for it. "Will, you stop being stubborn for once in your damn life?" He demanded, shifting his grip and lifting Athos before he had a chance to do anything about it. However, the laboured breathing and closed eyes told him that was probably beyond the other man at the moment, a light grip on the front of his clothes the only sign that he was still stubbornly clinging to consciousness.

He carried into the barn, and gently settled him down on the bedroll, having to tease Athos' fingers away from his clothes to settle him properly. "I know it's not up to your usual standards, but it will have to do," he commented, seeing a sliver of blue, but confusion greeted his weak stab at humour before Athos sighed and his eyes closed properly. "Athos?" Porthos tried, and while there was no reply, he had a feeling that the other man wasn't completely unconscious yet. "Athos, you need to drink something?" He tried again, and this time he got a reply, Athos shaking his head slightly and wincing at the movement as he immediately stilled again and Porthos grimaced. He wasn't Aramis, he didn't have the tone that could demand obedience even from Athos, and he hated the feeling of helplessness that gripped him, especially as he realised that there was fresh blood welling on the bandaged shoulder.

_Aramis…please hurry._

Aramis staggered backwards and sank to one knee as the last three of their attackers fled, all of them wounded, proverbial tails between their legs and unlikely – or so he fervently prayed – to try and pick a third fight with them. D'Artagnan had always sunk to the ground behind him, breathing heavily, and filthier than Aramis had ever seen him, their fight having churned up the rain-soaked ground around them and Aramis doubted that he looked much better.

"Well," Aramis paused, breathing deeply, assessing himself for any injuries. He had multiple scrapes and cuts, and he had a feeling he would be feeling this fight for a few days, but the worst damage was the cut on his shoulder, which had already stopped bleeding. Satisfied that he would be fine and trusting D'Artagnan would have done the same and told him if there was anything serious, he let his head fall back. "That was…fun."

"Again, not the word I'd use," D'Artagnan muttered, and Aramis' lips twitched, hearing Athos' drawl in that retort. Clearly, the pair were spending far too much time together, although he knew that Athos would adamantly deny that fact. Or that he was influencing the younger man at all, which of course meant that he would need to tease him about it once he was healed and able to appreciate the banter.

They remained there for a few more minutes, breathing, and paying no attention to the groaning and non-groaning bandits around them. Aramis was not inclined to reach out and help them, remembering Athos' pain and confusion, and with that in mind, he moved, staggering back to his feet.

"Come, we need to find the others, and we've wasted enough time on this lot," he said, cleaning his blade and sheathing it before turning to look at D'Artagnan. The younger man looked worse for wear, but the worst injury seemed to be the gash on his face, and while it needed cleaning the bleeding had already stopped, and while it had to hurt, it didn't look like anything they needed to worry about. _Unlike Athos,_ he thought with a scowl, his early worry and fear flooding back in now that the rush of the fight was receding. Thankfully, as winded and exhausted as he was D'Artagnan didn't argue or even voice a complaint as he mirrored Aramis' actions and rose, trying and failing to brush some of the dirt of himself.

Their horses hadn't strayed too far, taking shelter amongst the trees a short distance from the fighting and apart from being agitated, seemed to have escaped the ambush unharmed. Athos' horse tried to take a bite out of D'Artagnan's arm as the younger Musketeer took his reins, but they were long used to its antics by now, and he ducked quickly out of the way, scolding it as he did so. Aramis didn't blink as he swung himself into his own saddle. Still, inwardly he was amused that D'Artagnan had somehow managed to tame both rider and horse. Because as far as he knew no one but Athos had ever been able to tame the beast and even then he had been bucked numerous times before coming to some kind of agreement with his mount. "What are you smirking about?" D'Artagnan demanded as he mounted, Athos' mount's reins firmly in hand.

"Nothing," Aramis replied, urging his own horse forward toward the path, only to pause as he realised that D'Artagnan hadn't immediately followed. "D'Artagnan?"

"Athos…" D'Artagnan hesitated, and Aramis could see his knuckles turning pale with how tightly he was gripping the reins. "Is he really going to be all right?"

"Of course," Aramis replied instantly. "He's going to need a lot of rest, and I fear we might need to tie him to the bed to make sure he actually gets it, but he will recover." It was easier to lie without Porthos' knowing gaze on him, or in the face of Athos' confusion, and his quick reply and confidence seemed to reassure D'Artagnan as he sat up straighter in the saddle and nodded, urging both horses forward. Aramis nodded and turned away, hiding his face as he felt his expression crumble. The weight of the lie tugging at him, because if he was honest, he wasn't sure, as it had been a long time if ever that he had seen Athos so wounded and with everything else that had happened fear lay thick and heavy in the pit of his stomach.

_Please God, _he thought as they urged their horses into a trot. _Don't make a liar of me._


End file.
